


"From Eden" with love.

by Pups_Side_Box (Puppyinabox)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: "anyways crowley is trans cause he changed his name" -my friend, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Multi, Snake Crowley, and she yeeted him into hell., angel bureaucracy, aziraphale feels guilty, but god said "they will never comprehend those lights", but they've forgotton., crowley remembers first, flashbacks to pre-fall, he asked why., raphale made the stars and put stories in them, should i tag falling as death?, so the slowburn is even slower :o, they both knew eachother pre-fall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puppyinabox/pseuds/Pups_Side_Box
Summary: (yall should listen to "From Eden" by hozier cause that song was a big inspiration for with fic.)“Angel, do you happen to remember what you were up to before the great war?”“The English civil war or world war one, dear?”“The great war in heaven, angel.”After the apocalypse which never was Crowley tries to remember himself before he fell, and he can only remember bits and pieces.  Aziraphale also does not remember any angels like him before the war, but he mostly kept to himself then and still does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey yeah so this is that rewrite of "are you there god it's me crawley"  
> also please seriously listen to "From Eden" the lyrics are an exact fit.

Crowley and Aziraphale sat in Aziraphale’s bookshop, the afternoon sun gently streaming through the front window. The demon sat draped over the arm of Aziraphale’s love-seat across from where the Angel sat at his desk. They sat in silence, merely enjoying the afternoon together, that is until Crowley broke the silence asking “Angel, do you happen to remember what you were up to before the great war?”

“The English civil war or world war one, dear?” Aziraphale asked, not looking up from his copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,

“The great war in heaven, angel.” Crowley answered. Aziraphale made a face and shut his book,

“Darling whatever has brought this question to your mind?” 

“Just thinking is all. We’ve known each other since the beginning of time, but I don’t really know much about what you were up to or like before that. And I suppose you don't know me before we met or I fell, though I actually suppose upstairs should have a file on me, Your lot do love files… bureaucracy and all.” Crowley smiled a little. 

Aziraphale nodded and said, “well, it was quite a while ago, before time as you said, but I do remember quite a lot of stir about your conspirators going on. Lots of angels were paranoid, always looking over their shoulders. I wasn’t really afraid though, I knew we would win- er… sorry.” 

Crowley sighed, “it’s alright. I remember fighting. I remember how it felt to fall.” his serpentine eyes grew distant as he spoke, then he shook his head and said, “sorry, that’s awfully gloomy. Anyways I asked because I don’t remember much from before I fell. I have an idea of why I fell and I remember meeting Lucifer and his gang of misfits just before the war broke loose and I fell. But i don’t remember much of being an angel.”

“Oh, well I do believe I’d remember an angel named Crowley, or… would you have been called Crawley then?” 

Crowley winced at the old name, “I don’t know,” he answered, “Crowley or… the other one don’t really sound like… angelic names.”

Aziraphale hummed, “well I don’t remember an angel that looked like you either I don’t think. Maybe we were simply too far apart in rank or station to notice each-other.”

Crowley nodded and sat up straight, both feet on the floor, then rubbed his knees and stood up abruptly, “well this is gonna bug me so I think I’ll be going to do some research of my own. Just hope the bosses downstairs don’t catch wind of it… But I’m sure I’d be able to figure out an excuse if they did.”

Aziraphale raised a hand for a moment to stop him but nodded nonetheless and said, “I could do some searching too if you’d like. I’m sure no one would find it suspicious that I was researching you. They’d likely simply chalk it up to me making an effort to ‘better understand the enemy’” he had used air quotations for that last bit and took on a mocking official sounding voice. 

“Sounds good, but you don’t have to if you don’t-”

“If it’s important to you my dear I would love to help.”

Crowley froze up a bit but nodded and walked out of the bookshop, millions of thoughts slithering around in his head.

  
  


The book keeping and file management in hell was rather shotty at best, so Crowley could find minimal information on himself or anyone else really there. They were good at keeping track of human sins and successful temptations, likely because the demons loved to boast about their accomplishments. He found one document which said that he had been an Archangel though, so that was a start he supposed.

Crowley called up Aziraphale and told him to meet him at the Museum Cafe to discuss their findings and took his file with him along with a rather nice flower which had bloomed on one of his plants.

Aziraphale on the other hand had found too many files. The bureaucracy of heaven knew no bounds. First he had searched filed about the demon Crowley, then angels whose names started with C. there were so many he decided to simply go with the files on Crowley which dated as far back as possible and met Crowley at their rendezvous point.

He arrived with a small stack of files while Crowley arrived with a single sheet of paper in a manila folder and a small flower with red and white speckled petals. When they had said their hellos Aziraphale had gushed over the flower while Crowley tried to hide his pride, then they got to business.

“So what did you find?” Crowley asked in a hushed tone.

“Too much to piece through, actually. Most of this is about the war.”

Crowley nodded, “I found something that I think you could use.”

“What was it?”

“Here,” Crowley handed the open folder to Aziraphale to examine, “this says I was an Archangel.”

The Document had stated:

Let it be known that the demon, once Archangel now fallen, which this document pertains to shall henceforth be known as  _~~crawley~~ _ **crowley**

“My…” Aziraphale said softly as he read the short phrase, “You were an Archangel.”

“Yeah so maybe just search for Archangels starting with C”

“Crowley I checked, all the Archangels that had names starting with C still remain in heaven, or have been demoted or promoted. None have fallen.”

Crowley’s face twisted in confusion, “well I guess I had a different name then…”

“I suppose you must have… but this- this certainly is a start!” Aziraphale said brightly. He smiled and handed Crowley back his file, then ordered himself a slice of cake and Crowley an espresso. Their usual order.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way this fic is NOT canon compliant. don't ask me how the canon of this fic works cause I don't even know.

That night Crowley and Aziraphale opted to stay at their own individual places rather than spend the night together. This was not out of any form or discomfort or awkwardness, and certainly not any malice. They just sometimes liked to be alone, as sometimes togetherness can overwhelm.

“I think it keeps our time together much more special as well.” Aziraphale once said as he hugged Crowley goodbye,

“Yeah.” Crowley had said, and he genuinely did agree, though he always disliked the actual parting of ways he enjoyed his own alone time.

  
  


That night Crowley decided he’d spend it on the balcony of his apartment trying his best to see the stars. He considered briefly causing an entire city-wide blackout to eliminate the light pollution, his superiors would certainly not be mad with him considering that would be evil at least at a surface level. But he knew that would cause all the electric clocks in his apartment to reset and it would be difficult to focus enough to protect his own apartment, let alone the building even, from the power outage. Instead he just tried his best to see as many stars as possible with his serpentine eyes. He leaned on the railing of his balcony with his sunglasses hooked to the neck of his shirt and his face pointed to the sky. With the light pollution of the city he could count how many constellations he saw on one hand, but he was content enough because at least he could see any at all. He smiled despite himself as he thought about humans coming up with names for the shapes he and the other beings who crafted the stars made. He of course assumed there were others, as he was just one being. As he thought a conversation came to mind, one he felt had been buried deep within his mind.

“You put puzzles in the stars” a voice had said to him,

“Not puzzles, patterns. And materials for stories, and some stories of my own.” a voice which sounded like his own, but somehow brighter. Younger.

“Archangel. You do understand that they will not have the intellect of you or any of the other choirs, correct?”

“Well… Why not?”

“The simply mustn’t.”

“Then at least can they enjoy the pretty lights?”

“They are to be asleep when the sun sets, archangel. Your stars are meant to merely discern between night and day.

Crowley’s stomach sank all over again as he remembered. He scanned the night sky once again, slight desperation in the flicking of his eyes, trying to find the distant light of his creation. He could not see Alpha-Centauri. He shook his head and thought to himself that perhaps that was enough stargazing for one night.

As he went about his nightly routine of spraying and checking his plants, erasing all the messages on his answering machine he deemed unimportant (often times the only messages that remained were ones from Aziraphale), and taking care of his human-like skin he contemplated the memory which had returned to him that night, and wondered how much he had truly forgotten. It frightened him a bit, he thought he knew enough. He thought he was fine knowing only the official reasoning behind his fall but ever since that afternoon in the bookshop when he had started to wonder about What Came Before he found himself itching with curiosity. No itching wasn’t the proper word. Aching. He ached to know.

  
  


That night Aziraphale organized his bookshelves. Then he reorganized them. And reorganized them once more. He found himself restless and tired, though he did not need sleep. He was worried. He worried about Crowley, he worried that their little investigation may get them in trouble. He hoped that Crowley was not troubled though his better judgement knew what the tone of his voice when the discussed his past meant. He knew what the slight change in his sitting posture meant. When they had met to discuss their findings he had sat differently. His arms and legs were less languid, he took up less space. He still sat like himself, and anyone who didn't know him as well as Aziraphale did wouldn't even notice the change. But Azirahale noticed. And so Aziraphale worried. He was not new to worrying, certainly, but it rattled him nonetheless.

  
  


The next morning Aziraphale concluded it would be best to talk to an outside perspective on the matter. So he called up the only person he really knew well enough to call a friend besides crowley, the brilliant and kind witch who had helped to stop Armageddon, Anathema Device.

“Hello Az.” she answered, sounding surprised, “it’s been a while, how are you?”

“Ah, I am mostly quite alright, How was yours and Newton’s honeymoon?”

“Oh, it was very nice, he was excited to leave the country for the first time.” Anathema’s proud smile was audible over the telephone, “by the way I’m trying to work on some sigils I could add to some of our house plants' pots, the succulents have contracted a nasty fungus.”

“I’m not very experienced with plants, that’s more crowley’s forte, he is actually the reason why I called you.” Aziraphale said, his words becoming slightly rushed as he got to his point,

“Is something wrong?” Anathema asked, her tone serious,

“Oh heavens no. Well actually possibly. We are both safe and sound, he just- well you are aware that he is a demon, demons being fallen angels and-”

“Yes, Aziraphale, I know that.”

“Well you see he has been wondering about the time before he fell. He has a very limited recollection of his days before the Great War in Heaven and I can tell that this is bothering him greatly.”

“I see.” Anathema thought for a moment, “are you worried he’ll never remember or are you worried he won’t like what he remembers?”

“Yes and I am also worried about what he’ll remember and if he really wants to remember and why he wants to know and I’m also scared that he could end up getting hurt trying to find out.”

“I’d say to keep an eye on him, and let him know you want to help him.”

“That sounds… that sounds very good. Thank you very much.”

“Any time, oh and tell crowley about my issue with the succulents if you get a chance, I don’t want the fungus to spread to our outdoor plants because I don’t know if it would possibly hurt Dog or something.”

“That sounds like quite the wretched spore.”

“Just acting out of caution.”

The two said their goodbyes and Aziraphale got to work. He decided that miracling himself to The Gate wasn’t too frivolous for Gabriel or anyone else to have a problem with and he rode the surreal escalator which lead to heaven.

He searched The Files, which was actually somewhat of a realm or planet of its own. Heaven did love their record keeping, so much so that many angels in both high and low choirs if asked would say that an affinity for bureaucracy was worthy of being an eighth heavenly virtue. Aziraphale didn’t see all the fuss in not keeping records with near anatomic detail, but he did find it convenient at that very moment.

He found the area which was sectioned off for files pertaining to the Great War and searched through the names of fallen Archangels.

There were few in comparison to the other fallen choirs, but one name grabbed his attention and refused to release it.

Raphael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact newt and anathema got married and newt took anathema's last name.
> 
> also a me funfact today I came into work in a slightly damp shirt cause I didn't have time to dry my laundry all the way and I left with a slightly damp shirt cause i helped my coworker do the dishes when we closed(I work at a restaurant, I make food)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways I fucking hate Sandalphon he's creepy and gross.

“Aziraphale?” a voice asked behind him. He quickly turned around to see the Archangel Sandalphon standing all to close to him, attempting to leer over his shoulder, “what have you got there?”

“Oh, nothing at all really- well not nothing, that’s quite obvious isn’t it i am holding- um- it’s research!” Aziraphale stammered out an explanation as he backed away from Sandalphon, knocking into a filing cabinet.

“For what?”

“Oh you know- thwarting the wiles of- of the dark side.”

“You are… an odd one, Aziraphale.” his statement hung in the air like the bitter stench of bleach before his face split into a toothy and golden grin and he stepped aside to let Aziraphale pass, “that’s good. Keeps the foul things guessing.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly and said, “y-you always say the nicest and cleverest things Sandalphon-”

“I know.”

Aziraphale never liked being in Sandalphon's presence. His eyes were always watching him with such a thinly veiled disgust and scrutiny. once he had talked to Gabriel about it but Gabriel merely tilted his head and said, "now now, he just watches everyone like that."  
Sandalphon's sense of humor was also one that Aziraphale found grim and rather disturbing. In the months after the smiting he did in Sodom and Gamora, which While Aziraphale frowned upon the city's sins of violence he did believe that the smiting of the innocent populatin there was gratuitous, he joked about how he turned everyone into salt. they weren't even clever jokes really, just salt puns or crude gestures. He aced more like a demon to Aziraphale. But he also knew that the other Archangels held sandalphon as one of them, and to scorn any one of their reputations would be punished by all four of them.

“Right.” and with that Aziraphale sped away from The Files and back to The Gate. Once he had made it back to earth he quickly got on a bus to his bookshop and set down the two files he had managed to take with him. 

Aziraphale’s hands shook as he dialed Crowley’s number. He hesitated before putting in the last number but he huffed and placed the phone back on the holder. He shook his head as he stored away the files in the desk below his drawer.

“This- this is not for me to know, Not meant for my eyes.” He shut the drawer and prayed his decision was the right one.

Anathema Device watched as her husband, Newton Device, attempted to fix the light which hung above their kitchen table. He had refused to call an electrician, stating, “I should learn how to fix these things on my own, and I do think that a lightbulb is a fair enough start.”

She couldn’t help but smile as she warned him not to electrocute himself. A knock at their cottage door caused them both to stop what they were doing,

“Don’t keep messing with that while I answer the door.” she told Newt who nodded and stepped down from his step ladder

She opened the door to see Crowley standing two feet from her doorstep looking up at the horseshoe above her doorway,  
“Oh, crowley are you here about the succulents that I told Aziraphale about-”

“What- no.” he said, not taking his glare off of the charm above the door.

Anathema looked up to where he glared, sighed, and stepped outside, “well then what’s wrong?”

“How do you know somethings wrong?”

“I just do.” She answered.

“I may have had a nightmare?” Crowley said, kicking a nearby leaf from where they sat on the bench in Anathema’s yard,

“What kind? An odd one?”

“Well any nightmare for me is odd considering I don’t dream when I sleep.”

“Well that sounds upsetting.”

Crowley shrugged, “it’s nice to turn off sometimes.”

“Right, I’m not gonna try to unpack that,” anathema grimaced, “but what was your nightmare about?”

Crowley let out a shaky breath and spoke, 

“Aziraphale. Well not Aziraphale but Aziraphale was there. He was looking at me and he looked afraid. I felt like… you humans have nightmares a lot don’t you?”

“Yes, however on average we don’t remember them, but it’s not extraordinary for someone to remember a dream or nightmare.”

“Right so have you ever felt like… not like you were outside of your body but like you were watching through someone else’s eyes?” anametha nodded, “well that’s how it felt. But I knew they were my eyes. Anyway, whenever he spoke I couldn’t hear him, something like static was playing over his voice. I looked around and it was like everything was dark. Then I felt a burning pain all over my back and the floor gave out under me. He watched me fall and just before he was out of view his face changed from frantic to- to nothing. Blank. Uncaring. Like I was a worm drying out on the pavement.”

“Crowley that-” Anathema shook her head, “that sounds horrifying.”

“Was that- sorry to interrupt-” Newton stood in the doorway, wringing his hands,

“No, i need human input, go ahead.” Crowley held himself with both hands on the opposite elbow,

“Well- you are a fallen angel, correct. That’s how demons work?”

“Yes that's how ‘demons work’” Crowley mocked,

Newt frowned, “well what if that was when you fell? Or like- like nightmares when you half remember something bad but your imagination makes it ten times worse and so that time your aunt squeezed you too tight is somehow mixed with then your first cat died and-”

“Newt, dear… it’s alright, don’t get yourself worked up.” she got up and held Newton’s hands so he stopped picking at his skin before he started to scratch too deep,

“Right, yeah, sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” She kissed his hands then turned back to crowley, “but he does have a point. Maybe it was some sort of flashback, or maybe a flashback hidden in a nightmare?”

Crowley thought, staring at the plants in the Devices’ garden. “Maybe.” he said, “oh and you should give that one over there a more acidic plant food, that would make the colors of its petals brighter.”

“I told you, that’s what the box said.” Newton said to anathema,

“Well I didn’t think the box the company put on it would know better than me, the occultist who works with herbs and plants constantly.” Anathema countered with a smile, “but you were right, sorry.”

Crowley looked back and forth between the two of them before he gently slapped his knees and got up, saying “right well, I’ll be going.”

“Alright, well, goodluck.”

“Yeah, and maybe you should talk to Aziraphale? I’m sure that he could help, considering he knows you better than us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought I wouldn't shove as much Newt and Anathema fluff in here as i could you were mistaken.  
> also I'm calling their ship "electronic Devices" cause they're married and newt can't use electronics for the life of him.
> 
> also fun fact i almost wrote an alternate scene after Aziraphale got to his bookshop, but i scrapped it for the sake of the wider plot.
> 
> maybe when this is done i'll post that scene. but for now, no I'm sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait, I've been working more hours at work and I've also gotten into a more uniform exercise routine, so yea been a bit busy.

Crowley drove to Aziraphale’s bookshop from Anathema’s cottage in silence. He didn’t want to listen to the queen songs his Bentley selected and he worried that if he turned on the radio Hell would try to contact him. Instead he sped through the streets of London with only the roar of the Bentley’s engine and his own unsteady breathing as a soundtrack. When he reached the shop he, not without the aid of a miracle or two, parked and came through the door as quickly as his twig-like legs could carry him.

“Angel.” he said, his breath, though unnecessary as he was immortal, rushed.

“Crowley, are you alright, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, setting down a book he had been reshelving and coming to Crowley’s side.

“I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, dear, it's alright, nightmares aren’t rea-”

“No it was like I was remembering something.” 

Aziraphale’s face fell, “oh” he said, barely any noise leaving his lips.

“But it felt wrong…” Crowley paced as he explained, “you were there. You were watching me but it didn’t feel like me… but i knew it was me at the same time. Like a different version of me.”

Aziraphale watched him pace in front of the desk which contained his file, or rather the file of the fallen archangel Raphael, in silence. What was he to say? He didn’t want to interrupt crowley. Besides, he could have been wrong.

“You looked sad. Sad and scared, and maybe there was some guilt in your eyes. Then i fell.”

“I- you fell?”

“Yes, or I think I did. It burned and it felt like I was being yanked back and downward by my wings… away from you.” his voice sounded small, almost like a scared child.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak but said nothing,

“Aziraphale,” Crowley stopped, holding himself, “could we have known eachother? When- when I was an archangel?”

Long ago, when the Garden was just a thought and the universe was still young and in the works, the Archangel Raphael stood among the stars. Although standing wasn’t exactly the right word for what he was doing, as there was no up or down yet and his feet did not touch any sort of surface. He was suspended in the cosmos, just as his beloved creations were. He approached the planet which would later be called Proxima B, in the Alpha Centauri star-system, and held it in his hands, smiling down at it fondly. It wasn’t much, and it had taken him longer than seven days to make mind you, but he was careful to make it just like what he heard about The Almighty’s plans for the garden. While it was a little on the heavy side and may have been a bit colder than the Garden seemed it would be he knew fate held much for the little planet in his hands.   
The Almighty had said to go “wild” when making the cosmos, so Raphael was sure a little bit of experimenting of his own couldn't hurt. 

“You’re nearing god’s domain, Raphael.” the Archangel Michael had warned him once,

“Well, if anything grows on Proxima maybe one day The Almighty’s creatures could visit.” He responded with a confident smile, “and they did say to make it extraordinary.”

The Archangel Michael shook their head and continued about their business.

Raphael drifted away from Alpha Centauri and back up to heaven, careful about not knocking over or out of place any of the celestial bodies around him. He sighed as he passed through The Gate. While he did love being among his and the other archangels’ creations it did get rather crowded at times. He liked how organized and clean Heaven could be. Raphael sat on a bench and looked out at the view of heaven. The many buildings and fountains all threaded together with a very sensible transportation system. He wondered why there weren’t more spaces for the Heavenly Choirs to merely sit and discuss ideas, to debate. Everything served a specific purpose in heaven. There was no room for chaos. 

“Ah, Raphael.”

“Aziraphale, how are you?”

“I’m quite well, I’ve been just given the task of making a plant and I’d actually wondered if you could help me.”

“Oh I’m not exactly the best with plants-”

“That’s alright, I just can't seem to think of a proper name for the plant. Just something to call it so it can get filed away.”

Raphael nodded, “well tell me about it.”

“It has a sweet and calming aroma. The blossoms range from white to light yellow and its vines grow and wrap gently around other branches or on rocks. One could delicately pluck a flower and bring it to one’s lips to drink the nectar very easily without hurting the rest of the plant too much.” as the principality explained his eyes lit up. He seemed to be oh so fond of the fruits planned to be in the Garden.

Raphael hummed and said, “perhaps honeysuckle? Seems about right.”

Aziraphale smiled, “thank you, that should do nicely.”

Raphael had wanted to say that Aziraphale’s creation had, albeit unwittingly, been made near his image. He had wanted to say Aziraphale was sweet and calming and that he wanted to bring him to his lips. But instead he said,  
“I think The Almighty will be proud of you for making such a blossom.”

“You think so?”

Raphael smiled fondly, “yes.”

The two sat, watching Heaven hum with activity through the window. One thousand years could have passed, or maybe just a millisecond. Time wasn’t exactly perfected in the Garden yet and Heaven of course was outside of the rules of time or space.

“What have you been up to?” Aziraphale asked, 

“Working on more stars. I hope The Almighty likes what I’m doing with them.” Raphael frowned, “Last time they spoke to me about it though they seemed… not confused or mad, but nor happy either. I think they may think some of what I’m doing is frivolous.” Raphael had not meant to sound bitter when he spoke, he was supposed to follow The Almighty’s orders without question or dissension. Yet part of him wanted to know why The Almighty wasn’t proud. Why hadn’t they said “good job Raphael, my creatures will see your stars and notice the little secrets you’ve hidden inside them.”   
Why wasn’t his work enough? Why would only the Choirs and The Almighty be allowed to understand space? Why wasn’t he allowed to ask all the questions that drummed against what could be referred to as his skull?  
Why did heaven choose silence?

“That’s a pity… But I’m sure it’s all just part of their plan. Maybe their comment was supposed to motivate you to work harder?”

“I’m doing my best, Aziraphale… it’s all they can ask of me.”

Long after, when the Garden had become overgrown and then cut down to build roads and buildings, the Demon Crowley stood among stories once again. He became overly aware of the pull of gravity and the spin of the planet he and Aziraphale stood on. 

“I remember.” Crowley said softly.

“You- you do?”

Crowley nodded, “I remember honeysuckle.”

“Honeysuckle?” Aziraphale ushered crowley to sit, and he sat beside him. The scene felt all too familiar now.

“You made it. You made it and then you came to me- to Raphael- and asked what you should call it.”

“Crowley- I-” very suddenly it dawned on Aziraphale that there were things missing from his recollection, moments blotted out with ink.   
Could that have been memories he had of Crowley? Of them together? How could he forget such things? He was absent minded at times, sure, and he could be considered a bit of an airhead but that seemed too big to be forgotten. He wondered if Crowley had remembered him when they first met on the wall of Eden. He must have, why else would he have initiated a conversation.  
“I have something to show you.”

The physical weight of the file he handed Crowley was about half a kilogram, but the emotional weight could not be defined by any human measure. Aziraphale trembled so much he thought his heart may stop and he could discorperate. He willed himself to keep it together for Crowley. His feelings were more important than Aziraphale’s at that moment, or at least that’s what Aziraphale thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes when i write i get lyrics stuck in my head, writing this chapter I had the lyric "honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago"  
> and also "innocence died screaming" but that bit is gonna come a bit later.
> 
> also sorry about the typos in the last chapter and any i missed in this one, i've been tired hh


	5. Chapter 5

After pouring over the file Aziraphale had handed him crowley trembled,  
“Angel-” Crowley shut the manila folder and held it away from him, not at arm's length but the way one would hold a very hot tray of baked goods. His knees shook underneath him. He was like a sapling in a thunderstorm.

“Yes my dear?” Aziraphale reached out for him, taking the file and placing it back on his desk then holding Crowley with a hand on both his arms. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed how thin Crowley was until then. His joints jut out and his hands were like bones. So fragile. So light. Aziraphale briefly wondered if Crowley’s bones may be hollow like those of a bird, but the thought quickly startled him as it would mean crowley was even fragiler than he seemed at that moment.

Crowley hated seeming fragile. The idea made bile rise up in his throat when he was in a more stable state. But then he was vulnerable. He leaned into Aziraphale’s hand when he cupped his cheek, ignoring the feeling in his chest of how familiar it seemed. Like someone took a hold of the spot where his windpipe branched off in two ways and then twisted. Or like someone reached into his chest and held his heart in their hand. Though he supposed the latter could be true in a poetic or metaphorical way. 

“Angel, I don’t know- I don’t know what to do. Six thousand years and I’ve only ever felt this lost when I thought hellfire had taken you and your bookshop.” Crowley’s voice shook.

“We’ll figure this out together, I will not leave your side, my friend.” Aziraphale guided crowley to his sofa and then reached up for crowley’s sunglasses, “may I?”

Crowley flinched, “er- actually, I’d prefer to have them on…” he curled in on himself, swaying with an absent breeze, “sorry…”

“Oh- crowley, it’s alright. Your comfort matters.” Aziraphale placed a steady hand on Crowley’s shoulder,

“Can I- Can I lie down?” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale moved to get up but Crowley gripped his sleeve, 

“No, please stay.”

“As you wish.”

Crowley lay with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, after a moment Aziraphale realized he was asleep. He himself had never found any point in sleeping and had actually found it to waste precious hours he could spend reading or enjoying a drink or two. But looking back he noticed that crowley tended to sleep a lot, not all that regularly, but he had a pattern. He excuse himself on sunday evenings or would say he couldn't stay out too late. And when there had been something stressful that happened between the two of them he would spend hours shut in. Aziraphale had assumed it was to think or seethe but the night after The Not-End Times he remembered he had slept deeply. 

That night Aziraphale had explained to crowley he would be fine just sitting in a chair or chatting the night away and that Crowley didn’t need to go to the trouble of getting another pillow for his rather unreasonably large bed. Crowley shook his head and said, “angel, we both need a rest after all that.” Aziraphale hadn’t understood that at the time but he accepted as crowley’s bed was very soft and Crowley had happened to have at least a few books in his flat, one of which was a copy of Paradise Lost. Crowley said as Aziraphale picked it up to admire the cover, “Milton may have gotten some of it wrong, completely forgot to add you in… but I liked the attention anyways. Too bad lucifer got the credit.”

Crowley didn’t snore but his slow exhales as he slept came out hissed. Aziraphale had found it charming. 

Aziraphale brushed his fingers through Crowley’s fiery locks and felt guilt grip his mind. How could he have not remembered Cr- Raphael? After so long of knowing crowley. And how and why would he forget Raphael? 

“I’m so sorry my darling.” Aziraphale whispered, not intending at all for Crowley to hear but rather just to say it out loud, “Forgive me for my foolishness…” It felt odd asking for forgiveness, yet it felt right.

Raphael sat on a grassy hill. It had been one of The Almighty’s tests for her garden. He liked the openness of it, the gentle breeze that blew through his feathers. He watched the blades of grass move with a content smile on his face. He heard foot steps but made no move to look towards them. 

“Raphael.” Aziraphale’s voice was frantic,

“Yes, love?”

“Raphael- oh you mustn’t call me that in times like these.”

“What other times should I then?”

“You know what I mean.”

He did. Things were brewing, everyone was on edge, more attentive.  
“What’s wrong?” Raphael asked, now meeting Aziraphale’s gaze, he was wringing his hands

“Well- Theres been talk.”

“As there normally is,”

“Bad talk.”

“How so?”

“Well ever since… ever since lucifer was cast out there have been other angels going missing, from all different choirs.”

“I’m sure they’re just… just busy.”

“That’s the trouble, Folks are saying they’re busy plotting some kind of rebellion.”

Raphael sighed and plucked a dried up blade of grass up from the ground, “I know, Aziraphal.” 

“You- you do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, alright.”

“I know because some of them have approached me, talked to me about joining their ranks. I don’t want to-”

“That’s good-”

“But.... But I don’t like the look of how things are going.”

“What do you mean? What ever could you possibly-”

“Love, The Almighty speaks of her creatures like they’re just… just worthless experiments. She plans to make them like us but she refuses to let them understand or enjoy the things we enjoy. They’ll suffer and they won’t even know it, they won’t even know there’s better they could have.”

“Raphael-”

“And you know what else? I hear she’s going to tease the possibility of wisdom and knowledge that parallels us but they will only understand they’re not allowed to have it. That seems like it will be the only thing in place to stop them from having it.”  
“Raphael you mustn’t question the plans of-”

“Why? Why mustn’t I? If i don’t ask, who will? Nothing ever gets fixed if people don’t ask questions.”

Raphael stood up, his wings and eyes alight with a fury that felt surreal to him,   
“Why must it all be ineffable? Why can’t we share her Joy of knowing?” he turned the gaze of his now many eyes to Aziraphale where he still sat in the grass, now trembling as he looked up at Raphael. 

“Raphael you’re scaring me.” he said softly, cowering away when Raphael reached out his many hands

After hearing Aziraphale say this he quickly retracted back to a more humanoid form and said, “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the introduction of the main conflict is coming soon so buckle up i guess.


	6. Chapter 6

“It’s odd.” said Dagon, lighting Beelzebub’s cigarette, “he was never much of a reader, or a fan of keeping files.”

“So what’s changed?” Beelzebub’s voice was like hearing sandpaper getting rubbed on a priceless and beloved family heirloom while you couldn’t stop the defacing of such a prized possession.

Dagon’s laugh was like scraping a knife back and forth rapidly on a porcelain plate,   
“Maybe he’s trying some ‘self discovery’ thing. Pathetic but fun to watch I suppose.”

Beelzebub hummed, “you never know though… we should keep an eye on him.”

“When aren’t we?”

“Most of the time actually our surveillance team is very incompetent, we need to fix that.”

“Should they go in the Pit of Endless Despair for a century.”

“We don’t have a century, ten minutes should be enough.”

“Alrighty.”

“It’s quite…”

“Queer?” Sandalphon supplied,

“Yes, and curious, and odd, and all those other synonyms.” Gabriel’s hand waved in a circle as he listed the synonyms, “Aziraphale never liked spending much time up here. What was he doing snooping around The Files.”

“He was in the section that has records on Archangels.”

“Could it have been about when you and Michael and Uriel threatened him? I thought he was over that by now.”

“I don’t think it was that…” 

“What then?” Gabriel frowned, if one could see him one would see the wheels turning in his head. There weren’t many wheels to turn in the first place, but he was doing his best.

“Could it have been- oh dear lord.”

“What?”

“I think I’ve figured it out.”

“How so?”

“Do you remember our old… pal Raphael?” Sandalphon smiled like a very fat orange cat who had somehow managed to catch a small bird in its jaws.

Gabriel smiled too, though his expression was less one of malice and more one of satisfaction, “do you think he’s trying to remember?”

“I’m not sure, but he wont.”

“You’ll make sure of that?”

“I have my ways.”

Crowley woke up to find Aziraphale snoring above him, Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap. He’d never seen his angel sleep before. He snored loudly and his mouth was agape, but Crowley found it just as charming or elegant as anything. He sat up and sighed. He didn’t want to wake Aziraphale but he had to,

“Angel…”

“Hm- uh- no we’re closed at the mome-”

“Angel it’s me, you fell asleep.”

“Oh, Crowley, darling- I what?”

“Fell asleep. I know I’m surprised too.”

“How… how odd.” Aziraphale straightened his vest and sat up, “are you alright?”

“Well… I wanted to talk.”

“Alright.”

Crowley sighed shakily and removed his sunglasses. His eyes were puffy as if he’d been crying. He folded the arms of his glasses and set them down gently in his lap.

“That file… the things it has about me- about Raphael… I don’t-” Crowley pause and collected himself, “I’m not him. I’m not Raphael. I am, but at the same time… I don’t want you to call me that. I’m Crowley. I’ve made this identity and persona and personality for myself and from millennia of experience and life. I suppose I’m like Raphael. I mean-”

“Crowley?”

“I just don’t want this to change anything too much. I don’t want you to change how you see me with that in mind.”

What Crowley meant was that he was ashamed. Ashamed to have fallen from such a high state of grace, to have had power and lost it all. To have been such a kind and loving creator for those planets in the sky and to now be a pathetic excuse for a demon who only inconvenienced the people of London.

He wasn’t pathetic, but he felt that way.

Aziraphale held Crowley’s bony hands and said, “If you don’t want anything to change, it won’t. You’re my Crowley, and if you ever need to change that I’ll change with you. You are my constant.”

“And you mine, angel.” Crowley smiled softly, “But I’m afraid too. I’m afraid this entire endeavor will open an old wound. I’m scared that things we’ve built with love and care will fall apart. I’m scared the stars are going to fall out of the sky, angel.”

“They won’t Crowley.” Aziraphale gently kissed Crowley’s forehead, “I will not allow such a thing.”

“You’re not- you’re not God, Aziraphale.”

“No, but I’m one hell of an Angel.” Aziraphale’s lips quirked up in a playful smile,

“Am I a Righteous demon?”

The two laughed, Aziraphale nodded, and a tempest brewed outside their small Eden.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright yall so bear with me. I've never really written villains very well (most of the conflicts I write are internal) so yeah.

“Angel…”

“Yes, Crowley?” Aziraphale gently brushed a stray hair back into place on Crowley’s head,

“Does- Did any of this ever seem familiar to you?” He lifted his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder,

“What do you mean?”

“You know, us. Being together. The laughter, the smiles. Did any of it ever feel like we’d been there before?” Crowley asked,

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought. He couldn’t recall any feelings of familiarity or deja-vu, “I’m sorry dear but I’m afraid not.”

Crowley frowned and nodded, “yeah… yeah me neither.” he lied.

He laid his head back on Aziraphale’s shoulder and picked at the lint clinging to aziraphale’s pant legs while he and Aziraphale read together. Crowley was a very slow reader but sometimes he could hear Aziraphale murmuring words aloud to himself during more intense or engaging moments in a story. He liked to feel Aziraphale’s warmth. On the off chance he was reading along he rarely stopped the angel as he turned a page. Even though most of the time crowley hadn’t finished yet. This had grown to happen less however as Aziraphale had slowed down his reading when with Crowley.  
Crowley assumed it was to savor the story more, just as he wold savor a desert.  
Aziraphale however had in fact noticed when crowley was reading along and had also noticed that at times despite himself crowley would be a little disappointed when he didn’t get to finish a page so he slowed down when he and crowley shared a book.

All the quiet intimacy in being together. Hearing each other's breathing and every idle fidget. Watching each other enjoy life, enjoying each other. Raphael had always loved to watch, he watched Aziraphale’s blunt and nimble fingers working as the universe was crafted. He loved to watch his little principality work. As things began to speed up and Heaven neared the precipice of war he stayed closer to Aziraphale’s side. Everyone was afraid. Everyone was always looking over their shoulder. 

But, Raphael thought, maybe if he stayed with Aziraphale then the principality wouldn’t be afraid. Maybe he could watch for him. Watch out for him.  
He watched Aziraphale sharpen his flaming sword on the rolling grindstone. Watched the muscles and tendons under his soft flesh move and flex. His eyes flicked up to watch the focus in Aziraphale’s. 

He shuddered. He knew, in a way, where his place was going to be in the war. Knew one day that blade may be plunged into his body. Part of him hoped it would be Aziraphale. He’d rather let him take his life than any other angel, any other soldier. Because Aziraphale would be kind, even though it was war.

Aziraphale would have one hand behind Raphael’s slender neck, the other wrapped around the grip of his blade. He would murmur, “Be not afraid.” He would be swift and sure. Sure that Raphael would not suffer. A single kill shot. They’d kiss as the burning golden blood bubbled up Raphael’s throat. And the last thing he’d see would be the kind sorrow in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“This entire business of ‘being prepared’ is rather tedious, don’t you think?” Aziraphale complained, bringing the grindstone to a stop and sheathing his sword.

Raphael hummed,

“Surely if there is to be a war not everyone will have to fight… there aren’t many Fallen.”

“The Almighty works in-”

“Mysterious ways, I know. Just…” Aziraphale grew quiet and got close to Raphael, “What if we could avoid it? You said yourself that you’ve been having doubts. Take us away, we can go and hide in one of your galaxies. Grow our own garden. Just like you hoped before.”

Raphael smiled, though woe was in his eyes, “my love… It’s not our place to run.” He brought a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, “I will be fine. We will be fine.”

Aziraohale sighed and leaned into his hand, “the Idea of War is dreadful.”

“Yes, it is.”

As the rain beat down on his umbrella the man known by most as Zachary Horne stared out at the old book shop across the road. The people in soho said it had been there for centuries, some say with even the same owner.

While Zachary Horne is the given name of the man with the umbrella and sour expression, Sandalphon and the other Archangels called him The Apostle as he was told and expected to keep Aziraphale in check. 

The Call had come to Zachary as he lay in bed, wracked with anguish. The life of Zachary Horne had not been a kind one by any means, and his attitude towards life and people certainly did not help him. Mr.Horne worked as a journalist in his younger, brighter days. He had wanted to make a change in the world for the better. To expose what horrors lay beneath the everyday world. What he found instead was a lonely life of paranoia and anger.

Gabriel of course had delivered the message, though Sandalphon had written it,

“Be not afraid,” Gabriel said, many eyes glowing and wings taking up most of Zachary’s room. When his words were met with a dead and vapid stare the Archangel sighed and pulled his form into a humanoid one, “human. Zachary I do believe.”

Zachary nodded,

“Right.” Gabriel clapped his hands together and said, “well we have a task for you, one I think you’ll like.”

People walked around Zachary, avoided him. His glare pierced the blinds and curtains of the Fell and co. bookshop and his hands remained clenched in fists.  
The angel must not remember.  
Keep them apart.  
Drive the demon out.  
Do these things and God will forgive.  
And You Shall Ascend.

He crossed the road, paying no mind to traffic, and knocked on the bookshop door. 

“Sorry, I’ve only just noticed your closed sign,” said the man in the rumpled coat, “it’s a tempest out there, may I come in?”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to where Crowley lay sleeping and sighed. He looked the man over. He was nearly bewilderingly unthreatening and his smiled gently pleaded to be let in. His eyes were a pale blue and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead.

“Very well, would you care for a cup of tea?” Aziraphale said, stepping aside to let the man in, “and what may I call you?”

“Zach is alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again I'm terrible at making villains cause im always like "i can't make them too sympathetic or i'll like them too much" or "if they're not sympathetic they're jsut annoying"  
> so I hope I made The Apostle well cause man I'm trying.  
> also This chapter feels clunky and out of place but I need it to get the conflict of the plot rolling or it's jsut gonna be "crowley and aziraphale cuddle and soemtimes have tea with anathema and newt" which is valid and dandy but i have a plot to write here.  
> also I hate putting ocs in plot so again I'm sorry.
> 
> also enjoy this song it's Gabriel @ aziraphale: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uukvEcd25oQ


	8. Chapter 8

“Sorry to interrupt your evening.” Zach said, sure his words were sickly sweet. Kept his face open like a flower covered in dew. He had learned a thing or two the night Gabriel came to him. Had instantly found himself able to blend in, play any role. 

He crafted himself into a character: A drenched and wide eyed university student who sought shelter from the “guardian of soho”. 

When he took the cup of tea the angel handed him he blew gingerly and smiled. Zachary Horne hated tea.   
But Zach loved it.

“Oh, dear, it’s alright. I had barely noticed the storm from inside. You should be quite safe here.” Aziraphale smiled, pouring honey into his tea and stirring.

Zachary read the angel. He was a lover. A carer. He craved to take the hurting and the fearing under his wing and shield them. Deep down in a way the angel loved to be a savior. But oh it was not in a righteous way. No Zachary saw selfishness in him. A hero complex. 

Though anyone else would say he was projecting.

“Who is that?” Zach gestured to where the demon lay. 

“Oh, a dear friend of mine.”

“He looks sickly.”

“He has… had a rough few days.”

Zach hummed.

The demon was weak, Zachary thought. So much time to take the angel, twist him and make him fall. So much time to make sure the angel never stopped Armageddon. So much time to steal. Yet he waited. He was slow. He was quiet. 

He was kind.

Zachary frowned in disgust inside, within the confines of his twisted mind hidden behind a charming smile. 

Oh how proud Gabriel must have been, Lord Beelzebub too. To have crafted such a weapon. A man who cared more about capitalizing on the stories of grief in the world than changing them. The objective watcher and the neutral prophet.

Crowley awoke to the sound of laughter. He thought Aziraphale must have been reading some charming story to himself. That was, until, he heard a second voice. One he didn’t recognize. He got up and walked towards where he heard the sound.

“Ah, lovely to see you are awake. This is Zach… oh heavens I didn’t get your last name.”

“Halle.” the man called Zach provided with a gentle smile.

“Yes. Zach Halle. See he was walking back to his home when the storm started and he couldn’t make it all the way. I thought it right and fine to take him in and let him stay until the storm passes.”

“He could get a bus.” Crowley croaked, his voice hoarse from sleep,

“Crowley!” aziraphale frowned and set his tea down. “Don’t be rude. He is our guest.”

“Your guest.”

“Well so are you.” Zach pitched in, Crowley glared at him,

“He has a point.” Aziraphale nodded,

“Angel! What about… well I planned to talk to you about something.”

“It can wait crowley.”

It can wait. It could always wait. Crowley wasn’t new to waiting. He didn’t even mind waiting. He knew, always, what he was waiting for was worth the twisting feeling in his earthly chest or the tingling in his soul. He could always wait.

Crowley had decided, long ago, that Aziraphale would always be the one to set their pace. Because Crowley decided that he was willing to do whatever Aziraphale wanted. If Aziraphale wanted to stay just friends they would. If Aziraphale ever wanted a strictly sexual relationship then crowley would put aside his feelings and have that. 

Crowley could, if anything, adapt. Cut his hair or grow it out. Wear a dress or a suit. Hide his eyes or revel in being a serpent. His only constant he maintained was aziraphale. In his flat stripped of art or decor his two favorite statues reminded him of Aziraphale. 

One was the statue of the eagle from the church he destroyed for Aziraphale. The other was a statue’s context was much more lewd than saving a few books and killing some nazis. It was modelled after the Wrestlers statue in Florence Uffizi, altered to appear as a demon and an angel, with the demon overtaking the angel in the wrestling match. He had commissioned an artist in the late eighteen hundreds to make it, painting the demon with darker air than the angel’s golden-white locks. Crowley ignored what that would mean and indicate about how he felt for Aziraphale.  
Because Aziraphale was the one who decided things.

The Morningstar had fallen. His falling was a turning point in the tensions between the Fallen and Heaven. Lucifer had been a seraph. For such a high ranking angel to have gone against the Almighty was unheard of. 

They had it good up there. They were blessed with the knowledge of God’s true plans and what it all meant. Why the Choirs did what they did and were told what they were told.  
What about that knowledge could drive a Seraph to give that up? How could he?

The fall had shaken heaven. The ground below them shook and the sky was alight with his burning. His scream echoed throughout the halls and hills and valleys of the Almighty’s domain. Raphael and Aziraphale had just been talking about what they were going to do if war broke out when the floor quaked. Raphael clung to Aziraphale.

“What was that?” he asked, face buried in Aziraphale’s shoulder,

“Have you ever seen an angel fall?”

“No.”

“Well, in-” Aziraphale stammered, “in close range I’ve heard you see their skin shine. You see their soul leach out of their body. And then it burns. Their wings blacken and their body melts and reforms. And they feel it all…”

Raphael squeezed Aziraphale’s robes and sobbed. He shook even after the ground had settled and his breathing refused to slow. 

It was odd to Aziraphale, holding a sobbing archangel. Raphael had created a galaxy and yet here he was, terrified. It made Aziraphale afraid.

Yet, as he ran his hands up and down Raphael’s back, as he whispered assurances, he felt something deep in his bones. In his gut.   
Pride.  
Pride in himself. He felt sick about it but it refused to go away. Imagine that, some deep part of him whispered, someone who was supposed to outrank him at the mercy and need for his protection. The power of that began to settle in him. Then it began to alarm him. He gently pushed Raphael off of him, saying

“It’s alright. You’re alright.”   
But nevertheless the feeling had wormed its way into Aziraphale’s mind.   
The savior complex.  
The rush of Pride.  
The blasphemous urge to play god with Raphael.  
Aziraphale kept his shaking hand steady and asked, “How are you?”

“Fine.” Raphael responded.

“Good. I- I must be going now.” Aziraphale said, and quickly walked out of the room.

Crowley frowned and stomped towards the door,   
“I can drive you home Zach.”

“Oh it’s quite alright, I live a ways away.” Zach smiled and waved his hand as if to say “go away, get out of my sight.”

Crowley looked to Aziraphale, who simply smiled and said, “drive safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways yeah so I imagined the fall of Lucifer was a big deal considering it's theorized he was a seraph and that's a pretty high rank.  
> also I love Aziraphale but writing him having greed and doubt and pride is also my bread and butter.  
> I like to think before Raphael fell Aziraphale was likely more prideful and less obedient.  
> so heaven had to nip that in the bud.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley frowned as he drove, the only sound in the bently was the beat of the rain and the rhythm of his windscreen wipers. 

“Lucifer fell because he was jealous. I get that. But why me? What sin did you tie to me wanting to know?” Crowley asked the air, glancing skywards, “I wasn’t bad. I don’t think I was. I might be now. I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be anymore. Am I supposed to be that archangel, or the opposite? Why do I even care? Demons aren’t supposed to care.”

“That’s correct, crowley.” Crowley glanced in his rear-view mirror to see Lord beelzebub sitting in his back seat.

“Lord Beelzebub.” Crowley said, feigning confidence and nonchalance.

“Why do you care so much about who you were before you fell? And why do you care about Aziraphale remembering?”

“Who says I care about him remembering?”

“You, and every operative we have spying on you.”

“Bad move lord, you’ve revealed your hand.”

“It doesn’t matter. Heaven has something underway that I do think will have you quaking.”

“Working with heaven? Now that’s treason if i ever-”

“Oh shut it.”

“Hypocrisy too-”

“Ugh.”

And with that Beelzebub left Crowley to sit in traffic in the rain. He thought back to Zach, to the way he looked at Aziraphale and looked at Crowley. His words. The way he danced with just his hands and lips.

The coy bastard.

In all the years Aziraphale spent on earth, not once did he mean to lie. He of course has lied. But he's never meant to damage anyone or anything with a lie. He tried to keep his lies for the safety of others, or for the safety of his and Crowley's arrangement.   
He never meant to hurt anyone.  
Not ever in all history.

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel said with a grin after materializing in Aziraphale's bookshop. Zach had gone up to rest in the apartment above the shop.

"Gabriel, hello." Aziraphale shut his book and quickly stashed it away.

"So how are you?" Gabriel asked, not caring for an answer.

"They storm is rather-"

"Hm, yes it is. Now we've heard word about a missing file? You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"N-no of course not."

"Well… Sandalphon says that gets saw you in The Files."

"Sandalph- oh." Aziraphale feigned a smile, 

Gabriel watched him, expectantly,

"Well I had just been down there to um- to look up some files on certain things for clarification. Had a project that is wasn't completely sure how to fix."

Gabriel nodded, "but you, of course, returned whatever files you took. Correct?"

"Of course!" 

"Good. Well that will be all." And with that Gabriel disappeared in a flash of light.

“Human- anathema.”

“Crowley it’s eleven at night why are you calling me?” anathema sat up, her voice hushed as to not wake Newt.

“There’s a man.”  
“There are many.”

“I can’t talk on the phone about it. I called to tell you I'm on my way.”

“What? Ok… fine. Anathem groaned and got up, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

When Anathema opened the door she saw crowley glaring up at the horseshoe above the door frame to her cottage, he was drenched from the rain and in a visibly sour mood.

“You know it probably won't affect you right?”

“Can’t be too careful.”

“Fine, hold on.” Anathema went inside and got a step stool then came back out and removed the horseshoe. She then moved the step stool and stepped aside to let crowley in. he looked around a bit before seizing a wooden kitchen chair and sitting with his knees pressed against his chest.  
“So,” anathema said, pouring herself and crowley two mugs of tea, “you mentioned a man?”

“Yes. a very odd young man, around twenty three I assume, came to Angel’s book shop in the middle of this storm.”

“Well I’m sure that’s not out of the ordinary. He must have just been looking for a phone to use or-”

“He is spending the night.”

“Aziraphale is… a kind host?”

“He’s weird. The uninvited guest i mean. He…” Crowley let out a frustrated yell, “he’s just so fake. He’s like a mask or a puppet or a doll or something.”

“Are you suggesting he’s had plastic surger-”

“I’m suggesting he’s a liar! Manipulating Aziraphale.”

“I see.”

“He was so adamant that I leave and he stay. He even managed to convince Aziraphale I should go.”

“What did he say.”  
“Well-” Crowley frowned, “well I offered to drive him home and he said he lived a ways away and he refused to leave and I wasn’t happy there when he was there so he made me leave.”

“Crowley that sounds a little petty.”

“You didn’t see him, just-” Crowley sighed, “just could you maybe swing by and tell me if there’s anything off about him?”

“Aren’t you able to see these things as a demon?”

“I can see other demons and other angels in forms different from normal but only if I focus. I don’t think he’s a demon or an angel though. I think he’s just a really weird and powerful human. You’re the expert on those seeing as you are one.”

“Well thank you, I assume.”

“You assume correct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is hard so here is a dialog driven chapter cause im tired and i need to regain my momentum with this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while. I got depressed.
> 
> im so touch starved if i was an infant i could die of it.  
> im absolutely feral to have someone hold my face jesus christ imagine that.  
> if someone spooned me I would go absolutely insane
> 
> but also eye contact before marriage is a sin 👃

“Well I can swing by.” Anathema shrugged her satchel bag onto her shoulder.

“Could you? Please?”

She nodded.

The drive from Tadfeild to London was long. While Anathema was used to silence she felt that crowley likely needed to discuss some of the things going on with him.

“Did you talk to Aziraphale about your nightmare?”

“Yeah. yeah and um-” crowley made a left turn, “well he found the file heaven had on me. The one they had before I fell, you know, and I read it. I don’t think he did. I remembered some things.”

“Like what?”

“Flashes of stuff. Stars I made, conversations with other archangels, Aziraphale.”

“You knew him before?”

“Apparently. He… he doesn’t remember though. I guess we both forgot but I think he’s having more trouble remembering than me.”

Anathema hummed, “that’s odd. I always thought Aziraphale was the one who was more on top of things, like keeping track of things.”

“Well he has the aid of the bureaucracy of heaven. They keep track of everything and you’d just have to pop up to this place called The Files and you’d find whatever you needed.”

“Heaven has a library.” anathema smiled, 

“It’s more like an internet blog chronicling everyone’s lives all the time.” Crowley grimaced, “it’s creepy.”

“So why do you think you two forgot?”

“What?”

“Why did you loose your memories when you fell?”

“Well- well that must just be how it is, mustn’t it?” 

“What gave you that Idea?” She watched crowley’s hands get tighter on the steering wheel

“I just. No one else, no other demons that is, talks about their lives as angels. It’s just not talked about so i just assumed everyone forgot.”

“You didn’t remember a single thing?”

“I remembered a few things. I knew i helped with making some stars or whatever. I never knew the scale of my work.” Crowley nearly sped past a red light before he stopped sharply

“Careful.”

“Yeah right sorry. But when you put it that way yeah I do remember some times when some demons would mention remembering heaven. Once Ligur remarked about how Hastur used to have five wings but then he only had two and hastur said it was better than dealing with the stuffy rules in heaven.” 

“So they remembered?”

“But i didn't.”

“The question now then is, why?”

“There's more than one question, witch.”

Raphael stood amongst the stars. The seas on Proxima had just stopped boiling and he held the little planet in his hands.

“Little one let me tell you a story.” he murmured, “one I hope whoever on you is listening will remember and tell others. There once was a place where light was all there was. It could blind you if you weren’t careful. That was heaven. There was a god who stood all alone in this place, and she was lonely and sad. She made herself a friend, because she was a god so she could. And she named him the metatron, and said it was good. 

The metatron hadn’t existed long enough to decide if it was good, but it decided God must know best as she’d been there longer. The metatron and God got to talking until they both decided they could use some more company. Together they made seraphs and the seraphs made nephilim and the nephilim made many more choirs of angels to come until they made me. Raphael, an Archangel. They also made Aziraphale, a principality. The principalities were meant to protect places but there weren’t really any place other than Heaven yet. 

But God was preparing something. She locked herself away and left her choirs to work on her assignments, helping her build her New Place. She told the Archangels to make stars and the Thrones to make precious minerals and the Watchers to make fishes and the seraphs to make the glowing monsters that live in the deepest of waters. The principalities were told to make fruits so that her creatures could eat and trees so they could be sheltered from the stars that got too close. 

The principality Aziraphale loved this job. And I loved mine, little one. I cherished every moment of designing you.” Raphale spoke with all the tenderness he yearned to hear from The Almighty. The tenderness he hoped her new project was receiving, “he made honeysuckle and strawberries and a plump red fruit bearing small pinkish seeds inside that, if you broke the fruit open, you can pluck up and eat. The seeds were filled with a sweet and bitter juice. Each creation he talked about to me and was filled with joy and excitement. I hope that I can enjoy these wonders he’s made with him when The Time comes.”

Raphael watched the seas and clouds churn on Proxima, watched the lands rise from the depths.  
He prayed that he’d get to know the beauties of whatever was to come with Aziraphale. He prayed because practically he knew what was coming. He knew he was damned. One way or another something was going to happen and the other shoe was going to drop as it were. 

“You will flourish. And you will change. I may not always be able to watch… but I know you will grow to be beautiful.” Green began to sprout on the land on Proxima B as he backed away from the planet. His own private little garden faded from view as he returned to Heaven. 

“Raphael.” Aziraphale said, an edge of urgency in his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s rumors and questions going around and-”

“Aziraphale there have been. This will all surely die down.”

“No that’s just the thing. The Thrones are making sure it dies down in a sense.”

Raphael froze, “how so?”

“They’ve asked all the choirs below The Powers to report for some testing.”

“Aziraphale that’s-” Raphael thought about what he was going to say- “that’s good. That’s good it’s going to be ok. They’re just trying to scare some of those who mean to fall.”

“They said anyone who fails will be cast out.”

“It’s going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.”

“It’s not me i'm worried about, raphael!” Aziraphael squeezed Raphael’s hands, “it’s you.”

Raphael smiled, “don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to live like oscar wilde and be over six feet tall and write about the existential dread of maintaing beauty as well as sucking dick often. to live such a life is all one can desire.


	11. Chapter 11

“He’s inside.” crowley explained, pulling on the door handle to the bookshop. He was struck however when he found the shop was locked. “Must’ve… must’ve forgotten I was going to need back in.” Crowley tensed more and kept trying the obviously locked doorknob

“Crowley?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll call him.” crowley took out his phone and called,

“Hello?” aziraphale answered, 

“Angel, it’s me. Could you- um- could you let me back in?”

“Oh, of course, good heavens I thought you were going home.”

“I- I thought so too but-... please.”

“Yes, yes, i’m on my way.”

“Oh dear I’m terribly sorry about that.”

“Right, of course.”

“Oh, anathema! Hello” Aziraphale smiled, “quite a few guests today, eh? Though i suppose any guests at all is quite a few. Come in!”

“Yes yes, quite…”

Once they were inside brought a hand to her chest and winced,   
“Oh goodness…”

“What’s wrong?” aziraphale asked

“Crowley, could we um- could we have a word for a sec?

Crowley nodded and aziraphale walked into a back room,

“What’s happening?”

“Crowley, there’s- there’s this feeling, this energy I can’t describe too easily. Like an emptiness. Like the physical feeling of heartache. Like the remnants of grief of a loved one after years have passed. All this sadness yet simultaneously so much nothingness. With um- you know the smell of fake citrus in dangerous cleaning products?”

Crowley nodded,

“There’s a feeling of false compassion, just like the false citrus. As if to cover the horrifying nothingness that lies beneath. Do you feel it?”

“I… I certainly don’t feel the warmth I normally feel in here.”

“I would assume this isn’t the way this shop is normally.”

“You would assume correctly.”

“Crowley I really think you should talk to Aziraphale about this, this is serious.”

“Anathema-”

“Anathema I was wondering if you’d like some tea, to be quite frank you looked ill just now.” Aziraphale said, carrying a mug of his own tea in,

“I'm alright Aziraphale, thank you though.”

“Well what brings you here?”

Anathema looked at crowley, “you said something about another guest?”

“Oh yes, a young man named Zachary. He had nowhere to go in the storm and so I’m letting him use the bedroom upstairs.”

“That’s your bed.” crowley said, as matter-of-fact those words may be on paper his tone had an edge to it that anathema could see from a mile away but aziraphale evidently couldn’t.

“May I speak with him?” anathema asked,

“Does this have to do with more prophecies or-”

“No, no, goodness no. I burnt those prophecies a while ago. No i just have a feeling.”

“Well… he’s asleep right now. I wouldn’t want to-”

“I’ll deal with him if he’s upset.” anathem smiled and walked to the foot of the stairs, “which room?”

“Um, second on the right.

Crowley sighed once anathema was upstairs, 

“Crowley what is this?” aziraphale asked, evidently rather annoyed, 

“I just had a bad feeling.”

“So you called up anathema to spy on our guest?”

“He’s no guest aziraphale he’s a spy or an archangel or something!”

“This man needs help!”

“Angel this man seems like bad news.”

“One could say the same about you without getting to know you.” aziraphale snapped then gasped and backed away,

“Angel-”

“Crowley I’m sorry-”

“Aziraphale… I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“Crowley, really I didn’t mean that-”

“No, angel, please just listen, it’s ok-”

Anathema rushed down the stairs to crowley, whispered something, and then crowley said, 

“Oh, oh heaven. I’m sorry, i- I have to go.”

“What?” aziraphale took a step towards crowley

“I need to go, we need to go.”

“My dear I’m sorry”

“No, really angel it’s ok. I just really need to go this time.”

“Ok, I’m so-”

“Angel we’ll get stuck like this for centuries.” crowley smiled and squeezed aziraphale’s hand before rushing to follow anathema who had already rushed out of the bookshop.

“He’s on a mission from heaven. He lacks an aura completely, and it’s replaced with some twisted and tainted heavenly grace, not the same as what aziraphale has and not the same as what you have.” anathema had whispered before, “he’s an apostle. A bad one.”

“So he… he has no soul?”

“Something like that yes. Or maybe he sold part of it so the rest would be saved, i don’t know. I just know there was something so wrong about everything about him. I could see humanity in him but it was buried under some blanket energy.”

“Almost like the worst of heaven and hell combined?”

“Well i don’t have a point of reference for that but if what you said about your boss spying on you is true then yeah, maybe.”

“Raphael.” said the throne, “what have you been doing recently?”

“Crafting the stars that will be set in the night sky for the Almighty’s creation.”

“Are you proud of your work?”

“Pride is a sin.”

“Are you happy with your work?”

“I enjoy my work, I find delight in it.”

“Tell me, Rahael, why?”

“What?”

“Why?”

“Because… because It’s good to be part of her plan.”  
“Of course.”

“Why am I being questioned?” raphael asked, 

“Because every other archangel is being questioned.”

“Yes but why?”

“You ask too many questions, archangel.”

“Is that why I’m being questioned?”

“Oh for god’s sake, you know what’s been going on. You’re not that vapid.”

Raphael fell silent,

“You’re in danger. You’re going to fall.”

“Why?”

“You already know why.”

And he did. Raphael left the interrogation room with little to no idea about what would happen right after, but he certainly was more sure in his fate.

And yet when Aziraphale asked him how it went he said,

“Perfectly. See, I told you this was going to be ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about such a long wait i got really stuck and also quite a few things have been on my mind...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for graphic depictions of violence (specifically eye horror)

The Archangel Sandalphon liked to watch people. Not in the same way that aziraphale or crowley did, however. Crowley and Aziraphale enjoyed watching the humans grow and adapt, like watching one’s own children play in a garden or watching ducklings follow their mother or birds learn to fly. 

Sandalphon, however, liked to watch Humanity like a cruel twelve year old watching the ants scramble around after he poured water on their hill. That was humanity to him, ants. Small, insignificant ants. He laughed at how cosmically pointless each of them was individually, but how they as a whole were a means to an ends they could never even comprehend.

Sandalphon liked to watch.

“Do you have any update on Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked him, walking into the small office where Sandalphone stood staring into what could be described in english as a computer screen, thought it was more and different than that.

“He has not remembered anything. The Apostle is in place.”

“That’s good.” Gabriel smiled broadly,

“Almost. The Witch has spotted The Apostle.” Sandalphon spoke tonelessly, not looking up form his screen.

“Well I’m sure he can handle her-’

“Have you spoken with the enemy about our deal?”

“Isn’t it odd to work with them?”

“Time’s change.”

“But isn’t it odder to call them the enemy still if-”

“You’re asking too many questions, Gabriel. Remember our mission.”

“Right. Why can’t aziraphale remember though?”

Sandalphon sighed, “it would set a precedent that went against god’s original word and plan. God intended for him to forget and Raphael to never be forgiven. Because if crowley could rise then what would that say about other demons?”

Gabriel thought briefly of Beelzebub, then nodded, “we need to maintain balance.”

“Precisely.”

It happened on a bright and sunny day. Then again all the days had been bright and sunny. Raphael and Aziraphale lay in the grass together, the wind blowing the curls of raphael’s hair into his face,

“Kiss me,” he said, unprompted. Aziraphale sat up,

“While i’d love to, why?”

Because we may never again, because im going to miss this, because im going to loose you but even worse you’re going to get hurt from loosing me.

“Because i love you, darling.” Raphael said with a smile. Aziraphale laughed but kissed him all the same.

It was tender. So tender and so gentle. It made Raphael ache. It made him quake. He clinged to Aziraphale’s robes when they parted, nestling his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Raphael relished the soft warmth of Aziraphale’s skin there. Almost as soft and tender and warm as his thighs or his lips. Tears threatened to slip down his cheeks. 

What would happen to Aziraphale? Would he be punished for associating with Raphael? Would he hate him? Raphael didn’t know which would be worse. He couldn’t imagine either of them. He dared not.

“Are you sure you’re alright my love?” Aziraphale asked softly, he always spoke softly when he called him that.

“You know that i love you so very much.”

“But of cour-”

“No, you couldnt know actually. It’s beyond even my own comprehension how much i love you. Beyond even the Almighty’s”

Aziraphale gasped, “how can you say such a-”

“Aziraphale.”

The two fell silent,

“Really, you must know what’s coming… don’t you?” raphael looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes,

The amusement fell from his eyes. Everything about him drooped,

“Ignorance is bliss my love.”

“But yours is a lie…”

“You’ve lied too.” Aziraphale countered without force. Raphael nodded,

“It seemed the kind thing to do.”

“I thought so too.”

“I know they’ll be here soon.”

“Now? Today?”

“Most likely.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Raphael, his hands tight around his frame, “I wont let them.”

Raphael laughed dryly, “my love, it’s not your place to-”

“I am a principality. A protector!” his tone grew stronger, but Raphael cupped his cheek and his ire fell,

“Such things… they happen for a reason.”

“What happened to your fight?”

“Well it landed me here. And it’s going to land me far far below.”

“You can’t say such a-”

“Aziraphale. I’m stopping because I don't want them to hurt you too. I’m stopping because i’ve already roped you in enough.”

“Raphae-”

“It’s easier if I just let it happen.”

They held each other for hours more, although time hadn’t been created yet. A seraphim then appeared before them. His arms were aflame and cold like ice. His voice boomed as he spoke,

“Raphael. You know it’s time.”

“All he did was ask questi-”

“Silence, principality.”

“No.” he said, standing up between the seraphim and Raphael. He drew his flaming sword. He held it out in front of him with a sure stance, “he’s been good. He-”

“He meddled in god’s affairs, pretended to play god, then had the audacity to question her plans.”

“He was oing it because-”

“Aziraphale…” Raphael touched Aziraphale’s shoulder, “please. Don’t- don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Aziraphale stared at Raphael. The Archangel leaned in and whispered, “watch over my stars… please.” he drew back, “and I beg of you, turn away. Don’t watch this… this spectacle.”

“You’ve had your chance to say goodbye. More than you deserve.” the seraphim said. Raphael nodded and faced him,

“Alright then… how’s this wor-”

“Silence.”

“Right,”

Hands were all over him, hands held his arms away from him, hands held his wings, hands tore his robes and hands pressed at and held his face. They were cold and sharp like the feeling of cold metal on warm, sensitive skin. That was just the beginning.

Needles of fire pressed into his eyes, tears filled with golden blood poured past his eyelashes. His skin became alight with a flame incomprehensibly hot wherever the seraph’s hands touched him. His skin tightened then split as it burned. His bones filled with molten gold. His wings blackened from the ashes of his fingers as they burnt down to the bone. 

All the while he screamed a piercing scream. A soul shattering scream. A scream that aziraphale could not silence even covering his ears. He dared not look. Raphael had begged him not to look. He didn’t want to see raphael burn. He couldn't take himself anywhere else. All his thoughts and memories of Raphael burned and screamed along with him. Each tender smile twisted and cracked, each kiss was cold and dead, each tender caress now scrambling for a hold. For solidity. Why couldn't he hold him through this. 

Raphael continued to scream, for what felt like centuries.

In that moment he didn’t care how much time past. He just wanted it all to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a lighter note i saw folks on tumblr recommending this and i was so over the moon! the response to this fic has been so much more than i expected. i'm used to my fics never getting far but this is insane!  
> comments and kudos fuel me and motivate me so much, you guys are amazing.  
> also all of you have my fullest consent to draw anything i write.(hint hint nudge nudge you'd make me actually faint if you did that)


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